


A Touch of Magic

by Aithilin



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Fluff, M/M, sensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8743681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: It's hard to explain what his magic feels like, and sometimes Fai just prefers to show.





	

“What does it feel like?” Kurogane once asked. 

It was asked after a battle. After many battles. After things had settled and they had the moment of peace to pull together their (now extensive, multicultural, multi-world) first aid supplies. It was asked as Kurogane sat him down and examined his hands. 

It was asked in the quiet moments of rest, when Syaoran was curled around Mokona, or a book— or explaining the latest adventure to Sakura or Watanuki with his too-bright eyes and his boyish smile. 

In moments of quiet and rest and healing when bigger, rougher hands smoothed a concoction of creams over his and soothed away the lingering redness. 

“When my mother used her magic,” Kurogane once said; “it wasn’t like that. Not like a light or a weapon. It just…”

Fai could only smile to those little stories. To those little signs of worry and concern, and the way Kurogane danced around his real questions about the foreign magic Fai threw across battlefields. Questions about the power that left pallid flesh pink and warm and sometimes steaming when the cold air was pushed aside and burned up in the magic. 

“It’s like nothing, Kuro-sama.” And Fai would beam and rub his hands together until the strange cream— cobbled together with herbs and medicine from across the worlds— had vanished into his skin. He would beam and raise his still-pink hands up to show to Kurogane; to show that there was nothing left to worry about. “It’s just energy.”

In those little moments— between bandages and creams, and the rush of adrenaline leaving them— Kurogane would ask his questions, and Fai would give him non-answers. 

Fai wouldn’t say how close that energy was to the surface of him. How he could feel it pulse and pull in the air. How other magic— the kinds cast by strangers, by threats, that was used and twisted into tricks and mazes and curses in some worlds— pushed at him until he was distracted, until he had wandered down alleys or pressed a hand against a wall that was just _wrong_. 

Fai wouldn’t say how it felt like thread around his fingers, pulling and tugging and _alive_. How he could see the shimmer in his breath, how it could twist around him until he plucked a thread and wove something of himself together. 

“Bullshit.” Kurogane never believed him. Never let Fai forget that he knew what those lies sounded like. Never let Fai forget that he had seen the way Fai slept after using his magic more and more often. The way muscles tensed and eased and the weapons that Fai called into existence seemed to breath around them before they solidified to something that could pierce armour and flesh and stone. “What is it like?”

Somewhere along the way, after the soothing cream and the smiles but before the actual arguments, Fai would kiss Kurogane. 

It was easier than explaining the power that clawed just beneath his skin. It was easier than explaining the way that the power he was born with— condemned for, just letting grow now— fought against the creature that he had become at Kurogane’s wish. How these two opposing forces fought for his survival. How it sometimes left him breathless and aching and _scared_. 

It was sometimes easier to just _show_.

Fai did not play the aggressor in their relationship. Normally. He preferred to be reassured, calmed, reminded that Kurogane would chase him if he ran away. Reminded that Kurogane was stubborn and forceful and entirely too romantic for his own good sometimes. But in this… In this _demonstration_ , Fai was a force of nature. 

Kurogane was not all hard, unyielding muscle beneath his hands. He was not cold, solid lines. He was broad, and strong, and alive. His chest rose and fell when Fai pushed him down with the kiss. Flesh gave way even as strong hands wrapped around his own wrists first (a force of habit— testing the threat— Fai knew) before they moved to trail hot lines along his arms, shoulders, sides, back, thighs. 

Kurogane was not passive— could never be passive. He was like the creature, the monster, that had been forced into Fai’s blood. The one that clawed and bit and stared at the world in terms of “prey” and “meat” from yellow eyes. He pulled Fai close, he moved and refused to stop moving. He looked for a trick, a tease, a way to force Fai to act. 

His hands moved, they burned against Fai sometimes. Reminded him of the warm worlds and the hot beaches. The way the sands of Clow left him red and raw when the wind picked up. Kurogane’s chest pressed against his, lips moved from his to other areas— to jaw and throat and shoulder— where their years of teasing each other had left them both with maps of the other. 

Fai was like the magic— all energy and fluid. Pushing, pulling, moving, twisting. He couldn’t sit still in Kurogane’s lap. He couldn’t just rest on his back beneath the broader form. He couldn’t be satisfied that he was _winning_ against the heat and press and pull and force of Kurogane around him until everything was consumed. 

And the feel of his lover— taste, touch, smell, life— was all-consuming, if Fai had his way. Like half of his magic, he could indulge in Kurogane until everything else fell away. And the fell of it all just fed it more— sustained Fai for longer. 

Like that energy that danced at the ends of his fingers, threatening to consume the world around him, within him, Fai would pull at Kurogane for everything he could take. 

It was easier than explaining the way his magic felt, really. 

When they were left breathless— with Kurogane frustrated and wanting, and Fai on the verge of giggling as he draped himself across his lover— it was easier to deal with than truing to explain how magic felt. 

“That’s not an answer, idiot.” It would be muttered against his hair, or grumbled as Kurogane chased him for another kiss (and another, and another, until they had better things to do than indulge). “You’ll tell me, one day.”

Fai smiled and teased and let his magic pull him to distraction— grounded by a kiss or deeper voice or touch that trailed fire through his spine. “One day, Kuro-sama, you’ll stop asking.”


End file.
